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Impressions 




c £^ «c^ 






Reprinted from The Fra 



Copyright, 1921 

by 
The Roycrojters 



M -3 i'322 



©CI.A653394 



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Contents 



Page 

Foreword _______ p 

Elbert Hubbard II - - - - 13 

AH Baba _______ ^/ 

Grandfather and Grandmother Hubbard - - -29 

Grandfather Hubbard _____ jj 
77^ Z,/V//<? Journeys Camp ----- ^/ 

7«//<?/ _______ ^7 

^ 7W/> /o Europe with Elbert Hubbard - _ -55 

Elbert Hubbard — Worker - 63 

The Sterner Side of Elbert Hubbard - - -69 

Elbert Hubbard's Economics - 75 

Elbert Hubbard and the Kiddies - - - -81 

Roy croft — July, 191 6 _____ 8/ 

From Elbert Hubbard's Friends - - - -93 

A Boulder to Elbert Hubbard 's Memory - - 101 
The Dump _______ 107 

Reflections _______ 113 

Responsibility and Freedom - 119 

Preferred Justice ------ 125 



Never explain: Your friends 
dorit require it, and your ene- 
mies won't believe you anyway 



md 



Foreword 




don't suppose there is any reason 
why I should have hesitated in 
putting this material between covers. 
From the time I learned to scribble 
I have always had the greatest re- 
spect for the ability that can "write 
a book." 

Such ability was to me set upon an elevated plane 
and I looked up at it. Like most youngsters I aspired 
to be the author of a book, some day. And I am 
told that the world is full of folks {young and old and 
middle aged) who would have their names in gold on 
the covers of a book. — To be an author! 
My time has arrived. And now I find the thrill is not 
to be. My "book" was to have released the bonds of 
oppression, under which humanity suffers, and all 
that sort of stuff. Or, so I had aspired. Instead I am 
putting together some intimate sketches of my asso- 
ciation with Elbert Hubbard, a very humble and 
unpretentious effort. They are not intended as a biog- 
raphy — that will come later. 



These sketches were written and published in The 
Fra magazine during the first year after my father 
died. I had no intention of even putting them in book 
form. 

But now, because of certain pressure kindly adminis- 
tered, I have gotten together this little volume. 
I offer it without apology (the foregoing being only 
explanatory) . 

Intermingled throughout is a respect and love and 
admiration for the Man, my father, which approaches 
worship, I suppose. 

Time, the great modulator, softens and smoothes out 
the rough places in life, and today — after six years 
without his presence — the potency of his character is 
better understood and appreciated by me. 
And so here is my book. 

Bert Hubbard 



TV is what we think 
and what we do that 
makes us what we are 




Elbert Hubbard II 



6? 



*d 



Elbert Hubbard II 




am Elbert Hubbard's son y and I 
am entirely familiar with the prop- 
osition that "Genius never repro- 
duces." 

Heretofore, it has always been 
necessary to sign my name, "El- 
bert Hubbard II " — but now there 
is an embarrassment in that signature ', an assumption 
that I do not feel. 

There is no Second Elbert Hubbard. 
To five hundred Roy crofters, to the Village of East 
Aurora , and to a few dozen personal friends scattered 
over the face of the earthy I am Bert Hubbard, plain 
Bert Hubbard — and as Bert Hubbard I want to be 
known to you. 

I lay no claim to having inherited Elbert Hubbard 's 
Genius, his Personality, his Insight into the Human 
Heart. I am another and totally different sort of man. 
I know my limitations. 

Also, I am acquainted with such ability as I possess ■, 
and I believe that it can be directed to serve you. 

— 13 — 






/ got my schooling in East Aurora. I have never been 

to College. 

But I have traveled across this Country several 

times with my Father. I have traveled abroad with 

him. One time we walked from Edinburgh to London, 

to prove that we could do it. 

My Father has been my teacher — and I do not at all 

envy the College Man. 

Eor the past twenty years I have been working in 
the Roy croft Shops. I believe I am well grounded 
in Business — also, in Work. 

When I was twelve years old my father transferred 
AH Baba to the garden — and I did the chores around 
the house and barn for a dollar a week. From that day 
forward I earned every dollar that ever came to me. 
I fed the printing-press at four dollars a week. 
Then, when we purchased a gas-engine, I was promoted 
to be engineer, and given a pair of long_ overalls. 
Two or three years later I was moved into the General 
Office, where I opened mail and filled in orders. 
Again, I was promoted into the Private Office and per- 
mitted to sign my name under my Father s, on checks. 
Then the responsibility of purchasing materials was 
given me. One time or another I have worked in every 
Department of the Roy croft Shops. 

— i 4 — 



^y association with Elbert Hubbard has been 
friendly ', brotherly. I have enjoyed his complete 
confidence — and I have tried to deserve it. 
He believed in me, loved me, hoped for me. 
Whether I disappointed him at times is not important. 
I know my average must have pleased him, because 
the night he said Farewell to The Roy crofters he spoke 
well of me, very well of me, and he left the Roy croft 
Institution in my charge. He sailed away on the 
Lusitania intending to be gone several weeks. His 
Little Journey has been prolonged into Eternity. 
For that I do not hate the Germans; but they made a 
terrible mistake — a terrible mistake. I fear that for 
years to come the word "German " will bring thoughts 
of cold-blooded murder to the minds of many. 
I fear the phrase, " Made in Germany," will no 
longer find such warm appreciation. Is it not possible 
to lose the Soul out of the Machine? 
How much the world of thought lost when the German 
torpedo took away the life of Elbert Hubbard, I am 
too close to the tragedy to estimate. Others will esti- 
mate it — and Germany will know. 

Che work of Elbert and Alice Hubbard is not 
done. With them one task was scarcely under 
way when another was launched. Whether complete 

— 15 — 



or incomplete ', there had to be an end to their effort 
sometime, and this is the end. 
Often Elbert Hubbard would tell the story of Tolstoy, 
who stopped at the fence to question the worker in the 
field, "My man, if you knew you were to die tomor- 
row, what would you do today?" And the worker 
begrimed with sweat would answer, "I would plow!" 
That J s the way Elbert Hubbard lived and died, and 
yet he did more — he planned for the future. He planned 
the future of the Roy croft Shops. Death did not meet 
him as a stranger. He came as a sometime-expected 
friend. Father was not unprepared. 
The plan that would have sustained us the seven weeks 
he was in Europe will sustain us seven years — and 
another seven years. Elbert Hubbard's work will 
go on. 

I know of no Memorial that would please Elbert 
Hubbard half so well as to broaden out the Roy- 
croft idea. 

I am a Roy crofter. I know the Roy croft Shops, their 
possibilities, their market — their friends. 
I am now President of The Roy crofters, Incorporated 
— and I come to you with the suggestion that if Elbert 
or Alice Hubbard meant anything to you, stand with 
me now. 

— 16 — 



We will continue to make Hand-made Furniture y 
Hand-hammered Copper, Modeled Leather. We shall 
still triumph in the arts of Printing and Book-making. 
The Roycroft Inn will continue to swing wide its 
welcoming door, and the kind greeting is always here 
for you. The Fra will not miss an issue, and you who 
have enjoyed it in the past will continue to enjoy it! 
The Philistine belonged to Elbert Hubbard. He wrote 
it himself for just twenty years and one month. No 
one else could have done it as he did. No one else can 
now do it as he did. 

So, for very sentimental reasons — which overbalance 
the strong temptation to continue The Philistine — 7" 
consider it a duty to pay him the tribute of discontinu- 
ing with the July issue. 

The Roycrofters, Incorporated, is a band of skilled 
men and women. For years they have accomplished 
the work that has invited your admiration. You may 
expect much of them now. The support they have given 
me, the confidence they have in me, is as a great mass 
of power and courage pushing me on to success. 
This thought I would impress upon you: It will not 
be the policy of The Roycrofters to imitate or copy. 
This place from now on is what we make it. The past 
is past, the future spreads a golden red against the 
Eastern sky. 

— 17 — 



/ have the determination to make a Roy croft Shop — 

that Hubbard, leaning out over the balcony, will 

look down and say, " Good boy, Bert — good 

boy!" I have Youth and Strength. I have 

Courage. My Head is up. Forward 

— all of us — March! 






TV 's a wise guy who does not 

monkey with his destiny 

Ali Baba's Motto 




Alt Baba 



6p» 



dlisisi 



[5> 



Alt Baba 



li baba, / thinks had more to do 
with my bringing up than did my 
parents. He joined our family 
when I was two years old. 
His real name is Anson A. Black- 
man. When he first came to us I 
could not say his name: the nearest 
I could come to it was Ba-ba. I guess my father tacked 
on the Ali because the Bab really could trace his 
lineage back to the forty thieves. 
At any rate he is just plain Ali Baba of East Aurora, 
and the Ali Baba of the Arabian Nights has nothing 
on him. 




gLi baba was father s hired man. He did the work 
around the place; took care of the horses, the cow, 
chickens, and our garden. Also, he took great care of 
me, and of my brothers when they came. My mother 
had faith in him and felt perfectly safe in leaving us 
kids in his care. 
He had no children of his own, although I remember 



— 21 — 



his telling of his son, who died when about fifteen. It 
was a great calamity to B aba, for he was fond of the 
boy and had wonderful hopes of his being the biggest 
man in Erie County. So it was but natural that his 
love and hopes should perhaps divert to me. 
I was almost constantly with him, helping do the 
chores. He gave me the responsibility of gathering the 
eggs and keeping the record. There was a monotony 
about getting just so many eggs every day, and I 
wanted to make some startling records. So I conceived 
an idea. I would fool 'em. Suddenly the hens began to 
stop laying, or seemingly so. This lasted several days, 
but all this time I was storing up about half the day's 
receipts of the henhouse, in the bottom of the feed-box. 
In about a week I had saved a bushel-basketful, and 
one day surprised the bunch by bringing them in and 
chalking up the record day — three eggs apiece for each 
eligible hen. I forget now {for memory has a way of 
losing track of disastrous results) just what happened 
to me, but my scheme was punctured by the Sherlock 
insight of Baba. The egg record showed an even 
production after that. 

yjVY early training in business, and my father s 
\*Z ideas of making me an earner, are brought back 
to me by memories of my childhood that are very 

— 22 — 



precious to me now. He believed that a boy should 
know the value of money by having to earn it, or by 
thinking he earned it {same thing). If I wanted five 
cents for a tablet I had to carry in some wood and pile 
it up neatly in the wood-shed. Or I had to help Baba 
clean up the barn, who would see to it that I was duly 
paid. 

I remember one very clever boyish scheme I worked. 
Father offered me ten cents each for every rat I should 
catch in the henhouse, and he furnished me with six 
steel traps. For several months I did a good business 
and was collecting bounty regularly. The rats began to 
get scarce and my income was failing. Now, a few 
months before this, I had a pair of tame white rats 
{not members of the order), which one day gnawed 
their way to freedom. I felt very bad about this, for I 
had bought them out of the receipts of my rat-catching. 
But Baba consoled me and helped me in my sorrow. 
" Just you wait and one of these days I ' 11 put you next 
to something," said he. 

The weeks went by and that "something " held a lure 
for me. I was still trapping in the henhouse, and one 
morning on making my rounds of the traps — would you 
believe it! — there in one of them was a spotted rat. He 
was part white and part black — looked like Juliet. 
I quickly finished him and ran to Baba. "Ah, ha" 

— 23 — 



says Bab, " didn't I tell you! Business is picking up. 
Now them spotted rats is crosses between your tame 
white ones and the regulars. They are a rare thing. 
You ought to get fifteen cents each J or them instead of 
ten. Better see the boss about it at once." 
And I did. Sure he thought they were worth the advance 
and I got it. 

One other instance of my early earning. I had a 
notion of becoming a milkman. Great was the 
milkman with his wagon and bottles! So I played I 
was one. I took my express-wagon and gathered up all 
the tin cans in the neighborhood. Particularly was I 
fond of Royal Baking-Powder cans, for they had a 
cover. They were all neatly arranged on the back porch, 
much to the discomfort of cook and mother. Then when 
it rained I would take them all around to my milk- 
station and fill 'em up. This milk-station happened to 
be the gutter-pipe from the eaves to the south-side of the 
house, where it emptied out onto a big flat stone. 
Having filled the cans they must be distributed. Each 
fence-post around the yard and the corners of the 
house were customers. Cans were delivered there, and 
I suppose I forgot sometimes to gather up the empties 
later. 
They did n't look well scattered around, and one day 

— 24 — 



Baba was told to take them all down to the dump. But 
Baba and I were good friends and he knew how I liked 
my milk-route. So he says to me, "I ' '11 give you a dollar 
for them cans." He got 'em! The next pay-day the 
dollar was charged in Baba s expense-account for the 
months and in about a week I had another crop of cans. 

peaking of his expense-account: Baba got forty 
dollars a month, three square meals and a hand- 
out every day. Beside this he did some business on the 
side — sold some eggs occasionally or perhaps a chicken. 
Then, too, he had to buy things, get the harness mended 
or pay the freight on a box of Larkin Soap father 
might ship out from the factory. All these things had 
to be reckoned up, and so it was that after dinner on 
each fourth Sunday he would call off the items from 
his Lydia Pinkham almanac [which served as day- 
book, ledger and journal). I would set them down in a 
long column on a piece of manuscript-paper like 
that the Little Journeys were written on. Then these 
columns had to be added and the difference found. 
Sometimes the balance was one way and sometimes 
f other, but the forty a month always came on last and 
brought the account in Baba 's favor. After that I 
would take the sheet to my father and he would write 
out a check for it. Baba always had a roll in his jeans 

— is— 



big enough to choke an ox, and today owns his little 

cottage around the corner next to Grandpa Hubbard's. 

Here he and Mrs. Baba keep house and " reminiss " 

about the " good old days when Bertie was a 

boy." In time to come when their story shall 

be written, the book will tell how they 

lived happily ever after. 



26 — 



The spirit of love that flows through 
me, and of which I am a part, is your 
portion, too. The race is one, and we 
trace to a common divine ancestry 
Elbert Hubbard 




Grandfather and Grandmother Hubbard 



Qrandfather £^ Qrandmother 
Hubbard 



\ JOC^wfi ^Ml/7wl&^ 



n a little flowery cottage ', just around 
the corner from the Roy croft Shops, 
live Doctor Silas and Julia Frances 
Hubbard, the father and the mother 
of Elbert Hubbard. 
Silas is ninety-four, and Julia is 
eighty -six. Both are in full posses- 
sion of every faculty — they are healthy and strong. The 
Doctor has his own teeth, an abundance of hair, and 
reads without glasses. Up to ten years ago he practised 
his profession — but never on himself. 
One day last year, I was called suddenly to the old 
gentleman s aid by Grandmother. The Doctor had been 
working all the long afternoon in his garden. The sun 
was very hot, and the Patriarch had become slightly 
affected. He lapsed into a semi-conscious state. 
We were all worried, and naturally called in a 
near-by physician. There was really nothing he could 
do. Soon after he came, Doctor Hubbard recovered. 



29 — 



On looking about the room, he espied the M. D. 
Immediately Doctor Silas asked him who he was and 
why he was there. An explanation followed. There- 
upon the supposedly weak and worn-out patient 
launched a discussion on things medical by asking, 
"Doctor Phelps, are you a Homeopath or an Allo- 
path?" 

Doctor Phelps had come to be kind to an ailing old 
man, but instead he had to meet a vigorous attack on 
the Profession generally and argue strenuously , with 
no chance to win. 

[ilas hubbard never took any of his own dope, 
and he states positively he does not intend to 
begin at ninety-four with another mans dope. 
This grand old man has a strength of character and 
an independence that are beautiful. To offer him your 
assistance or make any illusion to his age as being a 
handicap is always resented. 

His garden is the best in East Aurora. He works it 
himself. Ali Baba is allowed to give advice only. When 
there a,re no new potatoes in Doctor Hubbard 's garden 
on the Fourth of July, he considers the season s work 
a failure. He has been a worker all his life, and will 
be to his last day. 



30 — 



— I'ulia Frances hubbard is alert , active > keen for 
X^P" discussion on any subject. 
She knew Lincoln. She believed in him and his prin- 
ciples. She has a wonderful memory. She knows every 
date of importance in American history ', and observes 
them all with genuine sincerity. In her you recognize 
the true unspoiled spirit of the American pioneer. 
Elbert was her only son, and I believe it was the train- 
ing of his mother and her inspiration that made him 
reach the height he did. He always confided in her and 
told her about his business. 

He left home early in life to face the worlds but the 
letters he wrote his mother are revelations in love and 
idealism. She has given me some of them recently , and 
I see in them an early shaping of the great work he 
was to do. 

In Eighteen Hundred Ninety-Two , Elbert Hubbard 
wrote this letter to his mother: 

My Dear Mother: 

Next to the selection of my parents, I have completed the 
most important move of my life. In fact, my death can not be a 
matter of as much importance — or fraught with greater moment. 
So to you, above all others, I write it first — / have sloughed my 
commercial skin. That is to say, I have sold out my entire finan- 
cial interest in the Soap Business. My last share was transferred 
today and the money is in the bank to my credit. Why have I gone 
and done this thing? Because, Dear Mother, I have all the money 
I want and there is a better use I can make of my time. 

— 31 — 



That excellent man, S. Hubbard, M. D. and myself are 
probably the only men in the whole U. S. who have all the money 
they desire. 

The next question is: What do I propose to do? I am going 
to Harvard College, and it is my intention to take a full four 
years' course. I also hope to spend a year in some University in 
Germany as well. 

John and Frank look upon my plans as a mild form of 
insanity, but I am at peace with them and all the world besides. 
I have not paddled away from a sinking ship; the business here 
was never more prosperous. 

I have concluded that he who would excel in the realm of 

thought must not tarry in the domain of dollars. Another thing, 

•■ I believe that he who would live long and well must live like a poor 

. man, no matter what his income is. We must be warmed and fed, 

\ of course, but we must wait on ourselves and work with our 

hands a certain number of hours each day. 

Many men want to lay up enough money to give their 
children a start. Money will do it all right, but it is on the down 
grade. If my boys can not get along without my financial aid, 
they cant with it. 

I wish you and Father would both write me giving your 
blessing to my new arrangement. 

With much love, as ever, 

E.H. 



When Elbert Hubbard was lost with the Lusitania, 
yjy the news was withheld from Grandmother Hub- 
bard for several days. Long before we told her that there 
was no hope, she seemed to know. Her boy had perish- 
ed and his body lay at the bottom of the sea; she felt it. 
Never again would he make her his daily visit; never 
again would he stop in for a moment when returning 

— 3 2 — 



from his horesback-ride. Her silent grief was inde- 
scribable. 

But with a philosophy and a strength almost beyond 
comprehension, she bore her burden. 
Today she will greet you with assurance and a smile. 
She will talk with you of the great loss with dry eyes. 
She will reason with you as to why the Lusitania sank 
so quickly. She will discuss Hubbard's works, and no 
mother ever was more proud of her boy. 
To her his fame was only the outcome of her hopes, 
her dreams. Only he had far outreached them all. 
In her I see all the characteristics of his genius; that 
nervous desire for knowledge — a most extraordinary 
energy — a high moral sense — a genuine regard for the 
rights of others — a firmness of purpose and a deter- 
mination to do the thing regardless. There, too, is 
the kindliest heart — the sweetest disposition — 
a love for peace. Surely can it be said, 
she is a great mother of a great man. 



— 33 — 



Men are great only as they are kind 
Elbert Hubbard 



6S 



Qrandfather Hubbard 




ilas hubbard, father of Elbert 
Hubbard, had just passed his 
ninety-sixth birthday when, on May 
18th, last, death came peacefully to 
close his career. In full possession 
of all his faculties, he had been 
ready to go for two years. His hope 
and desire were to die on his birthday, and a year ago, 
when his ninety-fifth year closed and life was strong 
in him, he was disappointed. But another birthday 
would come and he could wait. For him death held no 
fears. He had lived his life and performed its duties. 
The world is better for his having lived. 

Bis early life was spent in Buffalo, N. Y., and 
vicinity. It always seemed singular to me that 
as a boy he used to attend school at the Aurora Aca- 
demy at East Aurora. Not that there was anything 
about this that was very unusual {although the school 
was a better one than any in Buffalo), but that East 
Aurora must have had more than a transient interest 



—35 — 



in the Hubbards. It was not for any sentimental 
reasons that his son Elbert in later years selected this 
village as his home. It just happened. 
Silas had in him that something which forces some 
men to acquire knowledge under difficulties. Perhaps 
it was the pioneer spirit. He would walk from Buffalo 
to East Aurora on Sunday afternoon {about twenty 
miles), so as to be on hand for school Monday morn- 
ing. Then Friday he would walk back to the city. 

^tt^hile working for a doctor as chore-boy he learned 
\\y enough about medicine to instil in him a desire 
to become a doctor. The difficulty of getting a schooling, 
and a degree, and later on a practice, are periods in 
his life just like those of any other struggling young 
man intent on growing. 

He ultimately became a country doctor in Hudson, 
McLean County, Illinois. Here he practised for forty - 
jive years, helping many new lives into the world and 
prolonging many more — doubtless assisting a few to 
make a quick trip over the border, as happens occa- 
sionally with the best-intentioned doctors. 
He was easy-going; never would force his patients to 
pay; often accepted a fee in vegetables or other commo- 
dities of small value; never was harassed by the 
demands of a big business; but always had time to 

-36- 



devote to the interests of the community , and to his 
friends. He was a man of even temper, with a strong 
will and a kindly heart; never worried, never hated, 
carried no grouch, loved his family; studied philo- 
sophy, astronomy, botany, made his own medicines 
from herbs, wrote articles for the medical journals, 
had no desire to become rich. Was a deacon in the 
Baptist church and a Christian in the fullest sense of 
the term. Being a doctor, he took no medicine. 
His optimism was supreme, and he believed religiously 
in the theory that right will prevail and that a wrong 
will right itself — given time. He gave much to the world, 
lived his life in peace — and passed on with gratitude in 
his heart for all he had received. 
There was always a bond of close friendship between 
the Doctor and Elbert. The old man familiarly called 
his son just plain "Hubbard." 
He maintained his own ideas about life and often 
seriously objected to the more radical arguments of 
Elbert. They would discuss vital subjects with much 
earnestness, and there is no doubt that the Doctor and 
his simple, well-defined philosophies had a deal to do 
with instilling in Elbert a fundamental sincerity in 
his efforts. 

Until recent years the Doctor said he would live to be a 
hundred, but in any event would surely outlive "Hub- 

— 37 — 



bard." How he knew I cant say, but barring the 
unforeseen — / doubt if Elbert Hubbard would have 
lived to the age his father did. There was a vast differ- 
ence in temperament. Elbert had nerves, and I am 
told that " nerves " tend to tear down, and the more 
you have the quicker your system burns out. Besides, 
the times were more strenuous, and Elbert busied 
himself with world problems and business. He had a 
mission in life that took an everlasting stream of vital 
energy and force. In many ways he was superhuman 
and in advance of the times. He said there were only 
two respectable ways to die: of old age or accident. 
The mark he made upon his time will last. His efforts 
will be remembered and perpetuated. Down the cen- 
turies people will read his Little Journeys along 
with Plutarch's Lives. 

East Aurora will become better known. The Roycroft 
Shops and their industries will continue to remind 
the world that their founder builded better than he 
knew. 

The Roy crofters of today are building for the future; 
they are carrying no burden of sorrow; they bear no 
malice for deeds of insanity; they realize the strenuous 
conditions of the'times, and are putting their shoulders 
to the wheel in their own small way; they have accepted 
their loss in this world tragedy , and they know that out 

-38- 



of this struggle will come a peace and prosperity such 
as has never been known. They are going to be here to 
add to it and to partake of its joys. The strong 
character and morals of Silas Hubbard and the 
beautiful simplicity of his life will long be as a 
lodestar to them. Beside being "Physician to the 
Roy crofters''' and furnishing cough syrup and 
sarsaparilla, he gave counsel and advice, without 
extra charge. He preached moderation, temperance, 
and kindness. 

Right up to the last when we laid him to rest in 
Forest Lawn Cemetery in Buffalo, his presence was 
always refreshing. 

We are grateful to you Silas Hubbard for your 
example of a life of usefulness. 



39 



The J^Jttle Journeys Qatnp 




t was not built with the idea of ever 
becoming a place in history; simply 
a boy's cabin in the woods. 
Fibe, Rich, Pie and Butch were the 
bunch that built it. 
Fibe was short for Fiber ; and we gave 
him that name because his real name 
was Wood. Rich got his name from being a mudsock. 
Pie got his because he was a regular pief ace. And they 
called me Butch for no reason at all except that per- 
haps my great-great-grandfather was a butcher. 
We were a fine gang of youngsters , all about thirteen 
years, wise in boys' deviltry. What we did nt know 
about killing cats, breaking window-panes in barns, 
stealing coal from freight-cars, and borrowing eggs 
from neighboring hencoops without consent of the 
hens, was nt worth the knowing. 

J^-^here used to be another boy in the gang, Skinny. 
vjv One day when we ran away to the swimming- 
hole after school, this other little fellow did nt come 



— 4 i — 



back with us. You see, there was the little -kids' swim- 
min'-hole and the big-kids' swimmin -hole . The latter 
was over our heads. Well, Skinny swung out on the 
rope hanging from the cottonwood tree on the bank of the 
big-kids' hole. Somehow he lost his head and jell in. 
None of us could swim, and he was too far out to 
reach. There was nothing to help him with, so we just 
had to watch him struggle till he had gone down three 
times. And there where we last saw him a lot of bubbles 
came up. 

The inquiry before the Justice of Peace with our fath- 
ers, which followed, put fright in our bones, and the 
sight of the old creek was a nightmare for months 
to come. 

aFTER that we decided to keep to the hills and woods. 
This necessitated a hut. But we had no lumber 
with which to build it. 

However, there were three houses going up in town — 
and surely they could spare a few boards. So after dark 
we got out old Juliet and the spring-wagon and made 
several visits to the new houses. The result was that in 
about a week we had enough lumber to frame the cabin. 
Our site was about three miles from town, high up on 
the Adams' Farm. After many evening trips with the 
old mare and much figuring we had the thing done; all 

— 42 — 



but the windows , door, and shingles on the roof. Well, 
I knew where there was an old door and two window- 
sash taken off our chicken-house to let in the air during 
Summer. And one rainy night three bunches of shingles 
found their way from Perkins'' lumber yard to the 
foot of the hill on the Adams' farm. 
In another five days the place was finished. It was ten 
by sixteen, and had four bunks, two windows, a 
paneled front door, a back entrance and a porch — 
altogether a rather pretentious camp for a gang of 
young ruffians. 

But it was a labor of love, and we certainly had worked 
mighty hard. Our love was given particularly to the 
three house-builders and to Perkins, down in town. 

Of course we had to have a stove. 
This we got from Bowen's hardware -store for two 
dollars and forty cents. He wanted four dollars, and 
we argued for some time. The stove was a secondhand 
one and good only for scrap-iron anyway. Scrap was 
worth fifty cents a hundred, and this stove weighed only 
two hundred fifty, so we convinced the man our offer 
was big. At that we made him throw in a frying-pan. 
For dishes and cutlery, I believe each of our mothers' 
pantries contributed. Then a stock of grub was con- 
fiscated. The storeroom in the Phalansterie furnished 

— 43 — 



Heinz beans, chutney, and a Jew others of the fifty- 
seven. John had run an ad in The Philistine for 
Heinz and taken good stuff in exchange. 
For four years after that, this old camp was kept 
stocked with eats all the time. We would hike out 
Friday after school and stay till Sunday night. At 
Christmas-time we would spend the week 's vacation 
there. 

^a n y times had I tried to get my Father to go o ut and 
stay overnight. But he would nt go. One time, 
though, I did not come home when I had promised, so 
Father rode out on Garnett to find me. Instead of my com- 
ing back with him he just unsaddled and turned 
Garnett loose in the woods and stayed overnight. 
We gave him the big bunk with two red quilts, and he 
stuck it out. Next morning we had fried apples, ham 
and coffee for breakfast. 

What there was about it I did not understand but John 
was a very frequent visitor after that. 
You know we called Father, John, because he said 
that was nt his name. 

He used to come up in the evening and would bring the 
Red One or Sammy the Artist or Saint Jerome the 
Sculptor. Once he brought Michael Monahan and John 
Sayles, the Universalist preacher. Alike didn't like it. 

— 44 — 



The field-mice running on the rafters overhead at 
night chilled his blood. He called them terrible beasts. 

Hrom then on we youngsters were gradually de- 
prived of our freedom at camp. These visitors 
were too numerous for us and we had to seek other 
fields of adventure. 

John got to going out to the Camp to get away from 

visitors at the Shop. He found the place quiet and 

comforting. The woods gave him freedom to think and 

write. It so developed that he would spend about four 

days a month there, writing the Little Journeys for 

the next month. How many of his masterpieces were 

written at the Camp I can not say, but for several years 

it was his Retreat and he used it constantly. He 

reminded us boys several times when we kicked, 

that he had a good claim on it — -for didnt he 

furnish the door and the window-frames? 

I never suspected he would recognize them. 



— 45 — 



No man can have melancholia 
who loves a horse and is under- 
stood by one. A horse helps 
you to "forget it " 

Elbert Hubbard 



<5J- 



iS 



Juliet 




[ursday, September Seventeenth, 
Nineteen Hundred Fifteen , w pw/ 
/o ttj7 owr Juliet. She was only 
thirty-three years old — just exactly 
my age. She had been one of the 
^family for twenty-seven years. 
I remember as if it were but yester- 
day when she came to live with us. 
At the time I was six years old, and was in Blooming- 
tony Illinois , with my Mother and baby brother, visit- 
ing my Grandmother. One day a letter came for me 
from my father: 

Buffalo, N. Y., Sept. 17, 1888 

My dear boy Bertie: — 

/ went out to the Stockyards, t'other day, where I knowed there 
was an awful nice pony just like Queenie, only black and white all 
over in spots. It was awful gentle, just like Queenie, and the man 
who had it brought it from the Indian Territory, of an Indian 
who had five little boys, two of 'em bigger nor you, two 'bout your 
size, and one 'bout the size of Ralph. The Injun called the pony 
" Quin-quo-manen-soo-wang," but I have named her " Juliet," 
'cause when your Mamma would go to the backdoor and call to 

— 47 — 



Baba to hitch "Quin-quo-manen-soo-wang" to the phaeton, the 

Baba would be gone to milk before she could pronounce the name, 

and she would always have to wait until the day after before she 

could ride. 

Good-by, Bertie Hubbard, for this time. 

From your papa, old Mr. E. G. Hubbard. 

Vw-^ell, when I got home it did nt take long to get 
\\j acquainted with Juliet. She was the prettiest pony 
I had ever seen. To look at her head you knew she was 
gentle and kind and liked little boys. Father had an- 
other spotted horse then, called " Jessika" which was a 
name something like Mojeska,the name of a washing- 
powder made by the Larkin Soap Company. I never 
figured out whether it was the horse or the washing- 
powder that was named first, but they certainly had 
traits in commo?i. Both would bite. One was mean- 
tempered — and the other had lots of sand in it, too. 
Father used to ride Jessika and would lead Juliet 
with a loitg strap while I rode her. But I soon learned 
to handle her, and it was nt long before I could go 
without the strap. 

Every Sunday he and I would go for long rides. Some- 
times Harry Johnson or Will Harris would go. Or, 
perhaps, if there were nt too many sick people to look 
after, Doctor Mitchell would go on Old Molly. 
One Sunday, I remember, Father, the Doctor and I 

- 4 8- 



started out. Juliet had not been out of the barn for 
three days, and she sure felt her oats. She never was 
mean or ugly, but she had lots of life, and in three days 
she had stored up a big surplus. I held her in, for the 
instant she got her head she wanted to buck and run. 
Perhaps I was a bit frightened, for I would not let her 
go. Father and doctor got a good half -mile ahead. They 
waited at the foot of Link 's hill till I came up. Father 
evidently had it in for the two of us all right, for just as 
we got abreast of him, I saw he had his sombrero rolled 
up ready, and before we could get out of his way, down 
came the roll of hat on Juliet, just back of the saddle. 
She jumped and ran, and at every jump she got another 
whack on her butt. We reached the top of the hill, and 
I thought we had had enough. No — on we went, the 
telegraph poles jumping by, rolling and hanging on 
for dear life, and back of us coming Jessika and Molly. 
Finally I turned to look back, intending to plead for 
rest, Juliet and I were alone. She seemed to know it, 
too, for she came to a walk at once. 
When I went to the barn one morning, Baba met me at 
the door and cautioned me to be quiet. If I would, he 
promised to show me something. I was led to the box 
stall, the spare room of the stable, and allowed to peek in. 
Juliet was there, but not alone. Lying in the straw 
beside her was the whitest little colt you ever saw. Pure 

— 49 — 



white — not a spot of black! The skin of its little nose 
was pink y and its eyes were pink, too. Can you imagine 

my joy? 

Well, not long after that, Jessika had a pink-skinned 
baby, with pure-white hair and no spots. The sire of 
these colts was Adam Forepaugh, a big brown-and- 
white showhorse owned by Charlie Miller, the trans- 
fer man of Buffalo. These albino colts were the talk of 
the horse world. How they happened nobody knew, but 
there they were. 

Father trained them himself. He used first to lead 
them as he rode the mother. Then they were taught to 
drive with bridle and reins, going ahead tandem style. 
When they got used to being driven that way, they were 
hitched to a two-wheeled cart, sometimes side by side 
and at other times in tandem. 

When they were quite young, Baba took them with 
their mothers to the Hamburg Fair, twelve miles across 
country. I was permitted to go along to help take care 
of them. At the Fair Grounds the judges awarded us a 
big blue ribbon with a bow for each, and printed on it 
in gold letters were the words, FIRST PRIZE. My 
pride was at its height when I stood in the show-stall 
with Juliet and her baby, brushing and stroking them 
while the crowd of yaps and jays rubbered. 
The Fair lasted five days, and Baba and I slept in a 

— 50 — 



box stall next to the horses. They might need attention 
in the night. 

In the evening after the crowds had all gone, other 
horsemen would come to our stall, and sit around in a 
circle on the straw and tell stories. They had a big 
bottle of horse-liniment {yes, that 's what it was, 'cause 
Baba told me so) which they would pass around the 
circle at stated intervals, each man rubbing some in his 
hair for luck (?) I remember how they broke the neck 
off the bottle, for no one had a corkscrew. They were a 
noisy bunch and kept me awake. Baba said it was 
good training for me, but Mother did nt agree with 
him. She said it was bad company for a boy and I had 
learned too many cuss-words. But the Bab insisted 
that that was necessary to a mans education. 
One day P. T. Barnum came along and offered father 
a big price for the white colts. I suppose it was a lot 
of money, for he got them. 

Juliet and I hauled the mail for several years, but 
that was long, long ago. For the last four years Juliet 
has been on half-time and full rations. She was queen 
of the stable, and even in her old age could show the 
younger ones how to buck under a saddle. She helped 
Herman make garden, and ate what she wanted from 
it. This last Summer Juliet has had one continuous 
vacation, with Garnett, Getaway and Babe. They have 

— 51 — 



roamed the pasture and enjoyed the woods — eighty 

acres. This has been for them a Summer of peace and 

tranquillity, with nothing to disturb them 

save the bites of bluebottles. If there is a 

pony heaven, Juliet is there. She lived 

a useful life and did her work. 



— 52 — 



One great, unselfish soul in 

every community would 

actually redeem the world 

Elbert Hubbard 







Loch Katrine and the head of the Trossachs, Scot/and 

Along the road to Stirling 

On hike through The Trossachs 

Resting where peace and rest are paramount, near Callander 



<5? 



^ 



^A Trip to Europe With 
Elbert Hubbard 




believe it was Emerson who said, 
" U y° u S° t0 Europe and bring 
back much it is because you took 
much with you." 
So, exactly what a boy of thirteen 
would bring back from Europe 
might easily be guessed. 
In the ninth grade at school, and not having had any 
old-world history or literature, it would seem almost as 
if the expenses of a European trip would hardly be 
warranted. 

Yet if the boy might have as his one companion on such 
a trip, Elbert Hubbard, then would the value to him be 
different. 

Such was my lucky experience in Eighteen Hundred 
Ninety-six. And today, as I am looking over the 
" log " we kept, I recall two months of happiness and 
joy that loom up out of memory like a ship in the fog. 
We traveled cheaply , but well. The State of Nebraska 



— 55 — 



{Allan Line) was not the finest boat, but her first-class 
cabin was good. The year before, my father had gone 
over on a fast boat, second cabin, and came back on a 
sailing vessel, six weeks at sea, landing somewhere 
on the Maine Coast instead of at Boston. And in con- 
fidence he told me that "first-class " on any boat was 
bad enough. I could easily understand this the first 
night at sea. The smell of cooking, steam, a stuffy 
cabin and fresh strawberries for supper did it. But 
never mind, I got sea-legs the next day, and later was 
able to stand clear forward on the upper deck during a 
storm. The old ship would rise up on the crest of a big 
wave, then suddenly seem to dive down and down into 
the next one, plunging through it with her lower decks 
all awash. I can recall how few passengers there 
seemed to be on these occasions. 

^■j^e landed at Glasgow on June Tenth, and sailed for 
\\j home from Liverpool on July Second. But in those 
twenty-two days we walked nearly all the way from 
Glasgow, through the Trossachs, and the Lake Region 
of Scotland, to Edinburgh: then down through Eng- 
land to London: six days in London; four in crossing 
the English Channel to Antwerp and Brussels; back 
to London again, and then across country to Liverpool. 
This trip was essentially for the purpose of visiting 

-56- 



the homes of great men, about whom Little Journeys 
were to be written. 

Little did I realize the wonderful opportunity that 
was mine. But now as I read from my "log " the 
impressions my boyish mind got I am convinced of it. 
After we had spent a day at Hammersmith among the 
shops of William Morris, I wrote in the book only 
this: "Tuesday, June jo, 1896. Went first to the 
home of William Morris. Met Mr. Cocherall and 
Mrs. Peddie, his assistant, who showed us around the 
shops and introduced us to Douglas Cocherall, a noble- 
man bookbinder. Mr. Cocherall showed us a big book 
called Chaucer that they were publishing at twenty 
guineas a copy. All that for one book with wooden covers! 
Mr. Morris is sick in bed and we could not see him." 
The ideals of Morris, which were the inspiration of 
the Roycroft Shops at East Aurora, escaped me. 
The visit to the Battlefield of Waterloo left this im- 
pression : "On the top of the mound is a large lion 
cast from the cannons captured by the English. There 
is a stairway to the top — 226 steps, 'cause I counted 
them. When the French marched to Antwerp in 1833 
they broke off the tail of the lion just for fun. From 
the top of the mound we could see the small valley 
where Napoleon s army jammed and formed a bridge 
across of horses and men." 

— 57 — 



[ome of the events of our trip are recorded in my 
log in Father s handwriting. 
On June Nineteenth he wrote: ( "Forty years old 
this day , God help us!") 

"Took steamer on Thames at London Bridge for Chel- 
sea. Got off at Battersea Park and watched boys play 
cricket. Walked across bridge to Chelsea. Saw monu- 
ment of Carlyle at foot of Cheyne Row. Visited Car- 
lyle' s old home, and spent an hour most pleasantly. 
The caretaker, a worthy widow, gave us some leaves 
from vines that Carlyle had planted. 'Only Americans 
care now for Carlyle,' the old lady told us; 'soon we 
will all be forgot.' The old girl has rheumatism and 
thinks the house is haunted. Surely it is. The wind 
whistled down the chimney gruesomely. As my footfalls 
echoed through the silent chambers I thought I heard 
a sepulchral voice say: ' Thy future life! Thy fate is it, 
indeed. Whilst thou makest that thy chief question, 
thy life to me and to thyself and to thy God is worthless.' 
The wind still howled. She locked the door and we 
came away." 

^he day after that we heard Joseph Parker speak at 
X ^J the City Temple in London. Visited Saint Paul's 
Cathedral and the National Gallery. Saw the great 
collection of Turner s famous paintings and sketches. 

-58- 



Arranged with a photographer to make reproductions 
oj some oj these for use in /^Little Journey to the 
Home of Turner. 

Our visit to Israel Zangwill stands out in my memory 
clearly. What my own thoughts were then I can not 
quote now, for Father recorded the visit thus: 
"Sunday, June 28. Awakened by the clanging of bells 
of Saint Pancras Church across the way. Bath, break- 
fast, and took bus and tram out to Oxford Road. At 
No. 24 were ushered in and card sent up to Mr. Zangwill. 
The house is old and the furniture old and musty. All 
is dark and dingy. Six pictures, all of Zangwill, were 
spread around. Was shown up to Zangwill' s study and 
received by the homeliest man I ever saw, very cordially. 
He is a "littery " man of first quality. His voice is low 
and manner very gentle. His breakfast was brought in 
on a tray while we were there, and he apologizing 
began to nibble crackers, sip tea, and pick gingerly at 
a herring. Not a square meal, I should say. His dress 
was dowdy, his cuffs showing a goodly amount of under- 
shirt, which he tucked away from time to time; linen 
so-so, and would have appeared better if shaved and 
interviewed with a toothbrush. Asked him if he had 
any manuscript to offer for publication. Said he had 
a play c^//^, The Revolted Daughter, that no actor 
will put on. Z says it is too good for them, 

— 59 — 



and that we underestimate the ability of the public to 
comprehend advanced truth. 'You think I will not 
understand you if I express my best, and I think the 
same of you, and thus we deceive each other and our- 
selves.' Z said if the Roy croft Shop would pay 

him a hundred pounds we could have the right to print 
the play. Hardly think it will pay us to pay five 
hundred dollars for the privilege, although no doubt 
the prestige would be worth while. ," 
On the following day we visited the home of the Rever- 
end Doctor Joseph Parker. I wrote this about it: 
"Very fine house and many pictures. In one room 
were sixteen of Henry Ward Beecher. Had a bulldog an 
American lady gave him because it looked like him. 
His wife looked very much like Ellen Terry, whom 
we saw in Edinburgh. Showed us a scrapbook in 
which were some checks he never cashed, but had written 
across them, 'Pay to the bank of love.' Funny man not 
to cash his checks." 

There were many other places of great interest we 
visited: Abbotsford, the home of Sir Walter Scott; 
Melrose Abbey; the British Museum. We climbed to 
the top of Ben Lomond, took a swim in Loch Lomond, 
— water so cold and clear I drank it as I swam. 
I think of this whole trip as the biggest thing in my life. 
To travel with Elbert Hubbard was to have a wonderful 

— 60 — 



time. His interest in the big people of the country, and 

his ability to pick the interesting places as we went 

along, surely made him a companion that a youngster 

must learn much from. And I did. But I was a boy of 

tender years and must have gotten tired of art-galleries, 

museums, battlefields, and homes of great people, for 

here is what I wrote for the last day of the trip: "July 

14, 1896. Arrived in Buffalo, at 6 a.m. Had breakfast 

at McLeod's. Reached East Aurora at 9:30. 

Home safe and sound and happy. Oh, Gee! 

Gone seven weeks and had enuf of it." 



61 — 




Elbert Hubbard 



Of- 



Sc> 



Elbert Hubbard— Worker 




ow does he find time to do all his 
work? I never could quite compre- 
hend, myself. But I was often asked 
the question. However, I think I 
know. So would you if you had had 
an opportunity to analyze a day or 
a week of his time, and to couple up 
all the various little ways and methods he had for mak- 
ing every minute count. And he did it every day, every 
week, all the time, consistently. 
It is so easy to be inert, to stop the action of our minds. 
Ten hours a day for six days a week is about the limit 
a man can work at physical labor. Right hours seems 
to be the day of a brain-worker. What is done with the 
other hours of the twenty-four? Six to eight in sleep, 
and the rest at pastime, pleasure, eating, exercising. 
All right. But Elbert Hubbard did nt follow customs 
most men do. We waste our time, the most valuable 
thing there is. He had no waste moments, strange as it 
may seem. This was because he first had a very active 
brain — which knew no rest except in sleep. And because 

-63- 



he very systematically cared for his body, his sleep 
gave him rest. I believe he averaged nine hours' sleep 
out of every twenty-four. 

But because I say he did not waste a moment, I do not 
mean that he would forego his exercise, his pastime or 
eating. His pleasure was a constant thing with him. He 
got it out of his very existence, and he did not seek to be 
happy or amused. He carried his own good time with 
him. Seldom did he go to a theater — unless he was to 
be the star performer. Yet he knew the stage and all its 
people. 

In the last few years of his life he had attained the 
height of his power to work. From his boyhood up 
he constantly developed through discarding follies and 
useless endeavor, a habit of making every effort one of 
production. He made his play a part of his work 
always. He knew, better than most men, that consistent 
exercise in small quantities is the proper way to 
keep a body in fit condition, and that only with a 
healthy, active body could he keep his mind in like 
condition. He did not use tobacco, strong drink, or the 
pasteboards. "I put no enemy into my mouth to steal 
away my brains." 

Exercise in the oj>en air was his only medicine. His 
father was a doctor, but the old man never practised on 

-6 4 - 



his children. What a beautiful contempt he had for the 
medical profession! 

Qlbert hubbard's business was the creation of 
ideas and "putting salt on their tails." They 
came to him out of the air, and his faculty of grabbing 
them when they came and holding them is probably 
the answer to the question, "How does he find time 
to do all his work?" 

He had a way of calling four or five of us from our 
desks at any old time during the day, to go out on the 
lawn and pass the ball. This gave him a change, a rest 
and a chance to exercise. Incidentally , it did us all 
good. But while we played, his mind kept working. 
Suddenly he would say: "Keep it going, boys — I'll 
be back in a minute. I got an idea." We always 
laughed, for we knew he would nt be back. Perhaps 
you remember his article, " Why I Ride Horseback?" 
It throws a sidelight on him I may fail to focus. 
I have seen him very often stop his horse by the road- 
side and pull out a pad and pencil, write down the idea 
and go on. Or while attending a lecture he would write 
on the back of an envelope or anything that was 
handy. But the more dramatic habit of getting out of 
bed in the night to record a sleepy inspiration was not 
his. Visions and dreams he would hold till morning 

-65- 



when the daylight would clarify them. He burned no 
midnight oil. 

Because he was such a worker himself ', his very pres- 
ence among the Shops was an inspiration to us all. 
His personality seemed to permeate the atmosphere. 
Everybody worked. It was always a real joy to me to 
be of help to him. 

Co look back over the past twenty years and sum up 
the work he has done and the results accomplished 
seems to make the query as to how he did it a most 
natural one. For fourteen years straight without a 
breaks he wrote one Little Journey a month, and 
was always a month ahead of the printer. Each one re- 
quired a vast amount of study and reading. He wrote 
nearly every bit of each issue o/The Philistine. He 
averaged seventy-five lectures a year. Besides, he did 
much writing for other magazines, newspapers, and 
advertising propositions. And all this time he man- 
aged and built up the Roycroft Shops. Work was his 
hobby, his pleasure. He worked while he played and 
he played while he worked. A holiday was like any 
other day. All days were holidays. Sundays were as 
beautiful as Mondays. "Remember the weekday to 
keep it holy." He believed that work was the greatest 
blessing of mankind, and he proved it. 

— 66 — 



One of his theories was that to start a new year by 
laying off meant a wrong start. Hence in the Roy croft 
Shops we always started right by working on New 
Years Day. 

But after all, I think he did no more work than any 

other man can do who is willing to apply himself to 

his job as he did. I believe there was one quality in 

him that enabled him to do his work, more than any 

other. It was his power of concentration. With his 

wonderful memory and absorbing qualities of mind, 

coupled with an earnestness of purpose, and a sane 

idea of living — so that no hours or days were lost 

through disability — he did his work and passed on. 

"And I know: That I live in a world where nothing is 

permanent but change: That the work I now do will 

in degree influence people who may live after my life 

has changed into other forms. And that the 

regard which life holds out for work is not 

idleness, nor rest, nor immunity from 

work, but increased capacity , greater 

difficulties, more work." 



-67 



Keep an even temper, no 
?natter what happens 
Elbert Hubbard 



(5= 



The Sterner Side of 
Elbert Hubbard 




enerous, forgiving, kindly in his 
everyday life, there were times when 
a very stern side of his nature 
would show itself. 
To know him as thousands did — 
by a handshake, a smile and a look 
of approval from his big eyes, a 
bit of pleasantry or a cheery letter — meant simply to 
see only one side. This side is what made for him a 
world of personal friends, who took his passing as an 
individual loss. 

But allowing that his smile and words spread more 
cheer in the world than most men have equaled, it must 
be admitted that there was the other in his make-up. 
I don't mean an unjust nature — but the stern, fighting 
quality. Any man who could think as he did and write 
such pointed, fearless attacks on shams, humbugs, 
hypocrisy, and all things wrong as he saw them, surely 
had some kick and punch in his make-up. 

-69- 



Xn my childhood, I at once had a most profound 
love for him together with a sort of fear that 
made me respect his word or wish without back talk. 
He always thought clearly and made his decisions 
quickly. 

Very seldom was there a change of verdict. And I 
knew it. To argue the case was usually disastrous. It 
was yes or no! 

But as I look back over the years, there are only a very 
few instances of his showing extreme severity that I 
can remember. Perhaps it is because I was such a 
good boy! 

Cwice only did he resort to extremes with me. Once 
it was calmly done, without anger, but entirely 
for my own good — as I was told. My Dear Mother had 
been annoyed for some time by my going away to play 
without her permission. 

I think I was about ten years old. It was after supper, 
and I had gone out to take a ride on my three-wheeled 
"bike." I was barefooted and wore knee-pants. When 
I came home I heard Father whistle from out in the 
chickenyard. Looking over there, I beheld him stand- 
ing beside a peach-tree trimming up a nice sprout about 
four feet long. Have you ever noticed how nice and 
straight peach-tree sprouts grow? I never did before 

— 70 — 



that, but I always have since. Gee, how I wished I had 
put on my shoes and stockings ! That little switch 
did nt do a thing but put rings on my legs, and 
they wouldn't come off in a hurry, either. 

aNOTHER time {also barefooted) I was treated to a 
genuine trimming with a horsewhip. My offense 
was not in proportion to the beating, but Dad was mad. 
His day at the soap-factory had been a bad one, and he 
was much off-key when he came home. Just because I 
had blown the insides out of eight fancy duck-eggs and 
half a setting of high-priced bantam-eggs, to add the 
shells to my birds' -egg collection, never seemed suffi- 
cient excuse for what I got. But that anger stored up 
at the factory had to get out in some way or other. 
Like all boys I had thought I would some day run 
away from home. Here was my excuse ! But then I 
thought of what I would do at night. 
Mother would nt be there. I was wavering. Mother 
took my part. Besides in two days Dad brought me 
out a regular two-wheeled bicycle. And thus was a 
crisis averted. I might possibly be an admiral in the 
navy now — who knows? 

^^s^hose are the only times he ever whipped me, 
%^J although I have had all that was coming to me, 
in ofher sorts of punishment. He was a severe task- 

— 71 — 



master and at times very unreasonable. Often, though, 
like most men, he gave the fellow who did nt deserve 
it, the other fellow 's call. I wonder if I got mine 
because I was easiest to get at! Men scold their wives 
and children more than any one else, and Elbert 
Hubbard was first and last a very human sort of man. 
He was a successful business man and the big bunch 
of people on his payroll sometimes had to be shaken 
up by their heels. Sometimes it would be a deliberate 
plan of action, and other times a result of some par- 
ticular disturbing element that would start him on a 
tour of the whole shops. The word would fly ahead: 
l John 's on the warpath — look out!" So when he 
reached the Bindery the paper would be picked up off 
the floor, unnecessary lights turned off, and every bin- 
der bent over his bench. ^[ If the Printshop happened 
to be first on the visiting-list, there were usually a 
couple of fire -pails needed filling, dirt on the stairs, a 
press left with ink on the rollers when not in use, and 
perhaps a bunch of boys chewing the rag and fine -cut 
over in a corner. Each of these little things got corrected 
at once — excuses didn't go. Once, when I was feeding 
press, I talked back when being called down. Next day, 
Father took me off the press and sent me to the garden 
to pull weeds for just one week. I could come back at the 
end of that time if I was sure I could do as I was told! 

— 72 — 



Qlbert hubbard was withal a man very easy to 
approach. You always had a chance to state 
your case if you attempted it when conditions were 
right. He would always listen to you — give you an 
hour if necessary. But you never could convince him 
if your basis was wrong. He was quick to see weakness 
because of his own strength. On account of his gener- 
ous nature and the ease with which people could get 
at him, he was many times taken advantage of, stung, 
held up and trimmed. But let him realize he was being 
imposed on or his pocket touched, and you never saw a 
prettier fight. Once the scrap was on, he would go the 
limit. Lawsuits were only determined by the court of 
last resort. 

Beat him to it though, and you found a game loser. 
He would come across quick, square up, smile and 
forget it. He never whined, beefed or crawled. 
I never knew him to apologize but once, just to prove 
the exception. Sometimes an apology would have been 
quite in order. Instead he would bestow some kindness 
on the sufferer next day. He lived his motto, "Expla- 
nations do not explain." But the severe side of his 
nature was about one to ten of the other. It was neces- 
sary, though, to the make-up of such a man as he was. 
I have had to search my memory very thoroughly for 
enough matter to cover this particular characteristic 

— 73 — 



in Elbert Hubbard. For constantly in my mind flashes 

the generous , kindly and forgiving nature that 

made him a boy with his boys. 



74 — 



6? 



£c> 



Elbert Hubbard' ' s Economics 




recently got a letter from a Fra 
reader saying: "Cancel my sub- 
scription! I cant read your articles 
because while you profess reverence 
\for a great and good man, your 
Father ; you call attention to the 
stern side of him by telling of things 
he did which were severe. What if he was unreasonable 
at times?" 

The intent of my articles has been to throw side-lights 
on the character of a man who, take him all in all, was 
very human. I have not endeavored to idealize him or 
surround him with a halo. 

One so versatile and many-sided as Elbert Hubbard 
must needs have been a man of many moods and 
striking characteristics. I have not tried to portray 
only the side which reflects the great and sublime. 
It has been my desire to give a close-up, intimate 
impression of him in his daily life that his readers 
and admirers otherwise would not get. 
Webster defines a genius as : "A man endowed with 



— 75 — 



uncommon vigor of mind. A man of superior intel- 
lectual faculties." 

To have read Elbert Hubbard 's writings very naturally 
prompts the expression from his reader, "What 
a genius /" 

But how natural, too, it is from a distance to imagine 
that the man was superhuman. Surely I would not 
underestimate him or try to impress the thought upon 
you that he was less than a superman. Just the re- 
verse. But having in my mind's eye the picture of 
him as a man who ate and slept and walked through 
the daily routine of life, meeting its problems with the 
same measure of the commonplace as you and I, it 
seems to me that I owe no one an apology for treating 
my subject with a freedom such as comes only from 
intimate association. 

yjVosT men of greatness have been called eccentric. 
\\£ Undoubtedly their eccentricities have been large- 
ly the reason for their greatness. The same energy that 
enables a man to reach a sublime height of thought or a 
pinnacle of fame and success, also makes him, under 
certain conditions, concentrate his forces upon trivial 
things with extreme care. As an example:! have known 
Elbert Hubbard to spend a hundred dollars making a 
sheep-pasture on the Roycroft lawns — the purpose 

-76- 



being) of course ■, to beautify the landscape and provide 

scenery for Alex Fournier to put on canvas in the 

twilight of a summer day. You can easily imagine the 

damage a dozen sheep would do to a perfect lawn. Yet 

a few days before, when the sod was soft and some 

Roycroft boys punched holes in it with their heels 

during a little football practice, there appeared on the 

bulletin a classic notice suggesting dire things if 

repeated. 

The comparative damage done by the boys was not 

noticeable to what the sheep did. 

Consistent economy is impossible except as a science, 

and then only when applied by machinery. 

We are lavish with our money or our praise on the 

one hand, and ultra-economic on the other. It just 

depends. Usually the latter is under the guise of 

endeavor to stop a leak or fill a rat-hole. 

J^^hat reminds me of when I was engineer in the 
^^/ Printshop.We had one of those little up-and-down 
boilers. I had blown off the water the night before, and 
when I had fired up in the morning I forgot to put in 
fresh water. Seven o'clock came, but no steam. Sud- 
denly I found the reason and beat it out the back way, 
fearing an explosion. But I remembered that boilers 
don't blow up without water in them. So I went back 

— 11 — 



and after pulling the fire and letting her cool off, put 
in water and fired up again. 

The first fire, without water in the old kettle, had 
sprung the flues, — and my how they leaked! It was 
next to impossible to keep the fire going. Something 
must be done, and quickly! There were six pressmen 
waiting and the Phil was late anyway. " John " 
had been away on a lecture-tour, and did nt get his 
copy in. Right there I thought of how AH Baba 
had stopped the cistern s leaking by putting bran in 
the water. You see, the bran stuck in the cracks and 
swelled up. Why not try it in the boiler! I rushed to 
the barn, got a quart of bran and mixed in some corn- 
meal for a binder. Then I took out the safety-valve and 
proceeded to stuff the perfectly good grain into the 
boiler. 

Just then my Father came to the pressroom and took in 
the situation. My recollection of all that happened and 
all he said is blurred. Only one particular thing stands 
out. He had on an economical streak that morning. 
The idea of using valuable horsefeed to plug a leaky 
boiler! I tried to explain that I knew of nothing 
cheaper. Well, he did! And presently he brought me a 
bushel-basketful of stable debris. 
The leaks were temporarily plugged up, and the bran 
and cornmeal went back to the feed-bin. 

-78- 



How that old boiler did foam! I did nt know whether 
it had much or little water in it. But every little while 
I would shoot some in for luck. That was before the 
days of Safety First. Just why the thing did nt 
explode I don't know. The same kind Providence 
that looks after the kids and the fools probably was 
on my side. We saved the bran and cornmeal though, 
even if the boiler did foam over into the engine and 
stop it a dozen times that day. I imagine that economy 
of that sort is an inbred proposition. The spending of 
money in chunks is an acquired habit or ability — 
that is, with a man who begins life poor and is obliged 
to conserve. It is easier for him to save than to spend. 
Elbert Hubbard was a good businessman. He knew 
how to save money, how to make it and how to spend 
it. He was conservative and he was extravagant — at 
times — -just as we all are. He went to the utmost 
extremes. This — because he was a genius and there- 
fore eccentric. Everything, though, at the last is 
only relative. One can be unheard of by 
doing nothing and saying nothing. 



79 



rs 



Elbert Hubbard and the 
Kiddies 




knew Elbert Hubbard in his every- 
day life. I knew him to live his 
ideals as closely as a man could 
possibly do and still meet with 
sordid success the conditions of 
the times. He fully realized that 
ideal conditions can never be brought 
about anywhere — without ideal people. And whether 
an ideal people will ever be evolved he always doubted. 

Xn his universal love of humanity, it is but natu- 
ral that you should expect him to be vastly inter- 
ested in all children. His ideas on education, schools, 
colleges, the parents, environment, have made big 
impressions on the thinking people who have read 
him carefully. 

To make some little one happy seemed to give him real 
delight. All the kids in East Aurora knew him, and 
they always exchanged greetings on the street. Some- 



times it would be, "Hello, John!" or "Oh, you Mr. 
Hubbard!" Away from home he was of general inter- 
est to all newsboys, who greeted him, "Cowboy, want 
a paper?" He always did. One time the newsboy on a 
train attracted him as being a good hustler. So to test 
him he gave him ten copies o/Who Lifted the Lid — 
"Sell them for a dime each and I will give you ten 
more." That boy is a Roy crofter now. 
But to the children who knew him most intimately he 
was "Uncle." Although he was a grandfather he 
never suggested in any way that he be called such. It 
seemed so out of place, too. Some folks, you know, are 
grandfathers long before their time. 
Perhaps "Uncle Elbert" was self-styled. Any Roy- 
croft baby whose name was Elbert or Elberta {and 
there have been a number) always received a bank-book 
from Elbert Hubbard, Banker, showing a deposit of 
five dollars. With it came a note of congratulations, 
and appreciation — "From V Uncle Elbert, with love 
and blessings" 

Dot only did his workers honor him. Just how 
many copies of the Garcia and Pig-Pen Pete he 
has inscribed to Elberts — Smith, Jones, Lewis, John- 
son, etc. — / could nt venture to guess. This compli- 
ment to him was always pleasing. Not as a personal 

— 82 — 






matter, I am sure, but because the fond parents 
bestowed the name Elbert upon their child in recogni- 
tion of the ideals as put forth by Elbert Hubbard; also 
in hopes that they might serve as an inspiration to 
young Elbert. 

I can still remember, as a boy, the thrill of being spoken 
to on the street by any grown man of the town. But 
I do not now recollect any man in particular who thus 
greeted me. My thrill might actually have lasted till 
now if Ingersoll, or Lincoln, or Webster, or Grant had 
lived in my town when I was a boy, and had called 
me by name or stopped to pat my head. 
All his life Elbert Hubbard had a very tender love for 
little babies. He never missed an opportunity to fondle 
one. Any baby, anywhere, was of interest. Always an 
uncertain quantity, but with unlimited possibilities! 
When a boy he delighted in taking his baby sister, 
Honor, on a horse with him. He rode bareback and 
would gallop the horse down the road to the town pump 
and back. His mother says she can see them yet — the 
baby's long white dress streaming out in the wind. 
These little trips gave her considerable worry, but Bert 
could ride well. Besides, he did nt do it just to be 
smart: he was taking care of Sister, like any big 
brother should. 
His father, Doctor Silas Hubbard, was the only 

-83- 



physician in their town, and consequently presided at 
all visits of the stork. This gave Elbert first informa- 
tion as to the new babies. He at once assumed part of 
the doctor s responsibility, and very often before the new 
arrival was a day old Elbert came around to make an in- 
spection. You see, he had four sisters and no brother 
{except the adopted one he so charmingly tells about in 
that classic little story, How I Found My Brother). 
Undoubtedly he looked with longing on all the new 
boy -babies — imagining each his brother. 
But when the last baby came to his own house, he 
found his big sister out in the woodshed crying. 
"What you bawling about? " "Well, it 's nothing but 
another nasty girl." "You should be glad it's some- 
thing. I 'm going to go see her." 
However, in an exceedingly busy life and at an age 
when all his babies had grown up, the thought of 
disturbed sleep and constant care of a baby held no 
charm for him. My family and I had just finished 
eating dinner with him one day. The baby had fur- 
nished much amusement and his attention to her had 
been constant. His remark seemed to express his 
thoughts of the flight of time — and the memory of the 
nights I had lengthened for him — when he turned to 
Alice and said, "Would nt it be fine to have a baby in 
the house — for about an hour!" 

-8 4 - 



There are three little girls in my family , and their 
''''Uncle " was very dear to them. They expect him 
back any time. The summers will come and go. They 
will look in vain for that kindly greeting and the little 
presents he always brought. The evening last April 
when he left East Aurora for the last time, he came 
to our little log house. He brought the children a box of 
Crane's chocolates and left it on the porch. The baby 
he carried around the garden as we talked. She has a 
little kernel under the skin behind each ear, which he 
discovered with great delight. "That 's the only Hub- 
bard baby you have" said he. "The kernels are the 
distinguishing mark of a genuine Hubbard." And she 
looked at him with wonder, not knowing that she was 
in the generation that was to produce another Hubbard 
the world would hear from. Some day, when she proves 
the theory that genius skips every other generation, 
I will tell her of his last blessing. He didnt 
say good-by — -just kissed the baby and 
waved us a salute, "We'll see you 
all again in seven weeks." 



-85 



6^ 



Roy croft— July, igi6 



$22^ &2Z 


vmP 


■ ^ 


W 


^B ^|B 


^mB~ aXjj* 




£*K^K. 





hen Elbert Hubbard started the 
Roycroft Shops, in June, 1895, ne 
did not foresee the development they 
were to make. Nor do we now see 
any limitation to what we shall 
accomplish. But for twenty years he 
put his heart and his abilities into 
the making of the institution that today stands as his 
monument. 

Twenty years is not a very long time — unless it is in 
front of you. In this brief span, from a small capital to 
start with, there has evolved a business whose last 
inventory shows it to be worth considerably more than 
half a million. Many men have made many times that 
in half the time. I do not speak of this value to accen- 
tuate the accomplishment as a great financial one. 
I have in mind the thought that The Roy crofters, 
Incorporated, is the result of putting to the practical 
test a mans ideals — the ideals of living, of working, of 
art, study, desire, environment. To have made capital 
out of these things, which seemingly belong to dreamers ', 

-87- 



artists, and s corners of accumulated wealthy is the 
great achievement. 

Elbert Hubbard did not set his abilities to making 
money as a cumulative proposition. He never had any 
money on hand. It was always on the turn-over. He has 
said to me at times, when we were going over the cash- 
book preparatory to making up a payroll, "When we 
have a cash balance in the bank of twenty -five thou- 
sand all the time, we will rest easy." I surely thought 
so, but I knew we 'd never have it, for nothing made 
my father more generous and eager to do something 
new, than a couple of thousand dollars in the bank. 
He has been criticized for his money-making propen- 
sities, but he cared nothing for money for its own sake. 
He drew a personal salary of only $2,000 a year, and 
he always had plenty of it left over for pennies for the 
kiddies! 

He lived a simple life and spent little money for his 
own pleasures. His satisfaction in being able to make 
money was in that he could use it to make a better and 
bigger Roycroft. This institution was always self- 
supporting. It has been created out of its own earnings. 
No outside capital was ever invested in it. It has no 
bonds, no mortgages, no preferred stock. 



ausT a year ago Elbert Hubbard sailed away on 
M^Lusitania. When the unbelievable news came 
and the world had caught its breathy the people who 
knew of the Roy croft Shops looked toward East Aurora 
with a speculative wonder as to what was to happen. 
Much was said as to the probability of the Chapel 
becoming a home for bats; the Print shop a dun- 
geon of darkness; the Inn a parlor of solitude; the 
Furniture Shop, the Copper and Leather Shops, 
empty chambers where rust, ruin and cobwebs would 
greet the chance visitor; the beautiful lawns and flower- 
beds becoming pastures for patient old horses, where 
burdocks and thistles would hold full sway! Some had 
a vision of Roy croft as a flower gone to seed, a lamp 
out of which the oil had burned, a once busy place 
where now no wheels turned and no song of contented 
workers gladdened the long hours of the summer day. 
All would be quiet, still, and the breath of life would 
go out with the sinking of the sun in the west, as it cast 
long shadows across the playgrounds where happy 
children used to play. Without its master, Roy croft 
would become a thing in history. 

©ut these were the visions of gossips whose blood 
ran thin. Their prophecies were from their own 
empty minds. 

-89- 



For one month only was there any slacking of Roy- 
croft industries. We needed that time and no more to 
govern our sorrow and find ourselves. 
From the First of July, 191 5, every department of the 
Roy croft Shops has been working to capacity. There 
are more workers on the payroll than ever before. Out 
of the possibility of a decline we have made real pro- 
gress. The Printshop is running its presses night and 
day to keep up. The Copper and Leather Shops cant 
fill their orders. We are adding daily to the list of 
Roycroft publication readers. 

Roy croft is busy, therefore happy. There is an abso- 
lute spirit of success in its blood. We have no doubts, 
no fears. Our ship is sailing ahead under full rig. 
You cant stop us. We are bound for that port called 
Success. The last six months of 191 3 ', ten thousand 
visitors came to the Inn. This year, double that will 
come. Next year, reservations will have to be made 
months in advance. 

No, I am not boasting — / 'm telling you straight stuff. 
You should be advised of this because you are inter- 
ested. The perpetuation of The Roycrofters means 
much more than a mere financial success. The place 
stands for many ideals. 

Elbert Hubbard's efforts are in evidence in every nook 
and corner. His spirit permeates the atmosphere and 

— 90 — 



constantly holds out to us an inspiration to do better 
work and more work. Never do I see and feel the accom- 
plishment of a job well done but that I want him to 
pass his judgment on it and approve. There is an 
everlasting desire to demonstrate that he taught us well, 
and that we are fitted to do things as he would have us 
do them. 

^|^E have gone through this first year with credit to 

Wj ourselves. We have grown and broadened. Our 

future is clear to us. We have lots of work to do and 

have the heart and courage to do it. 

The Roycroft Shops shall live. Elbert Hubbard's 

finest monument shall be the institution he founded 

and developed. His hopes are our hopes — his joys, our 

joys. And when he looks out upon us from his present 

sphere of life and sees the result of our efforts he 

shall say: "My work was not in vain. I helped 

them to help themselves. They do me 

credit and I am proud of my 

Roycroft boys and girls." 



— 91 — 



The big reward is not for the 
man who will lighten our 
burdens, but for him who will 
give us strength to carry them 






6= 



r ^^B- 



Frorn Elbert Hubbard' ' s Friends 




doubt if any one person ever re- 
ceived such a collection of letters as 
have come to me in the last nine 
months! There are about forty thou- 
sand of the particular kind I have 
in mind. These are condoling, sym- 
pathetic, advisory, counseling, sug- 
gestive, reminiscent. All in all, they have been won- 
derfully encouraging and helpful. 
These letters have come from the friends of Elbert 
Hubbard. They are from every possible class of men and 
women, in all stages and walks of life: from the boys at 
Sing Sing, Atlanta, Florence, Joliet, Leavenworth. 
He always went out of his way to visit these places and 
to talk to the boys. His philosophy gave them cheer and 
hope. He understood them. 

There are letters from working people from all over 
the world — even Germany! One good German wrote 
me, among other things, that he had taken his copies 
of the War Number of The Philistine and Who 
Lifted the Lid Off of Hell ? to both the postal and 

— 93 — 



the military authorities ', lest they be found in his 
possession and he be taken for a spy. 

Qlbert hubbard was a friend of the worker. 
"The reason some people have to work from 
daylight till dark, and their work is never done, is 
that some people never work at all." 
Perhaps there are more of the so-called common people 
among his friends than of any other kind. 
But not only did he reach the masses. My file com- 
prises many very personal communications from men 
and women higher up: those who direct the affairs of 
Government, of business big and little, of finance; 
artists, literary lights; actor folks, both known and 
unknown. They all knew him — even though not person- 
ally in many instances, they had come to know him 
through his writings and lectures. Why do I speak of all 
this'? No, I am not flattered. I am not the reason for it. 
They have meantmuch to me personally to be sure, but the 
big thing about them is, they demonstrate the success of 
Elbert Hubbard's life. To have made an impression on 
the thinking minds of the world — to have influenced the 
thought and lives of countless thousands, so that they saw 
with clearer vision, felt more keenly the great purposes of 
life, the joy of living, the spirit of brotherhood and love, 
the sacredness of all work — what a success! 

— 94 — 



Qlbert hubbard was an idealist, and tried to live 
up to his ideals. " JVhen I speak of success I do 
not mean it in the sordid sense — the result of a mans 
work is not the measure of his success. To go down with 
the ship in storm and tempest is better than to paddle 
away to Paradise in an orthodox canoe. To have 
worked is to have succeeded — we leave the results to 
time. Life is too short to gather the harvest — we can 
only sow." 

I have this motto framed and hanging in my room. 
Every time I see it I am reminded of my letters. That 's 
a wonderful lot of letters! One is from a very close 
friend. He tells me that a syndicate in New York 
would like to buy Roy croft and that he should take it 
up with me. Did a man ever have a duty more pro- 
nounced! I read the motto on the wall of my room and 
answered the letter. 

y^ANY of my letters give me advice — mostly good. 
I^lij The biggest men who wrote me, though, did not 
do this. They knew that to advise a man in something 
they do not know all about is the most difficult thing in 
the world. The other day I sought the advice of a big 
businessman, a frierid. I had a problem to solve. He 
listened carefully to me for an hour. He asked me 
questions about phases of the problem I had not dwelt 

— 95 — 



upon. He drew me out. He made me think more about 
that thing than I had ever thought about it before. He 
explained some parallel instances that he knew of. But 
all this time he did not advise me. He was too big to do it. 
He told me when I left him that it was my problem, 
that I knew more about it than he, and that I must 
solve it myself. I had already, but I did nt tell him. 
That man knew me and had regard for me. He knew 
that he could not solve anything for me — that I had to 
do it myself. 

^any of my letters are reminiscent. The May 
(1916) issue of The Fra is going to be made 
up entirely of articles by Elbert Hubbard's friends, 
telling of the most interesting experience in their 
acquaintance. 

One lady wrote me of a rather interesting incident. She 
said it was just like Elbert Hubbard, too! He was to 
lecture in Washington at four-thirty one afternoon. 
The lady had invited three friends. They were all work- 
ing for the Government, and Uncle Sam would nt let 
them off until four-thirty , Elbert Hubbard or not. So 
the young lady had her nerve with her and sent Elbert 
Hubbard a note explaining and asking if he might set 
his watch back, say, twelve minutes, so they could get 
there and not miss anything. They entered the theater 

-96- 



twelve minutes late. On the stage stood Mr. Hubbard, 
watch in hand, smiling. He recognized them as they took 
their seats and then began his lecture. 
Gillhooley, of Niagara Falls, sent in his subscription 
to The Fra the other day. Incidentally he asked if I 
minded the time he held a Grand Trunk through-train 
for fourteen minutes, so my father and I would not 
get left! Sure, I remember that time! Our train on the 
Pennsylvania going to Buffalo was twenty minutes 
late. {When they build that new depot here it wont 
happen any more.) This meant we would miss our 
connection at Buffalo. We had reservations on the 
Grand Trunk train, and the conductor was looking for 
us. We had wired him that our train was a few minutes 
late — and could he possibly hold the train? 
We had to change depots at Buffalo. The shortest cut 
was across the tracks and over the back way. The snow 
was a foot deep and blowing a blizzard. We had lug- 
gage. There were three freight-trains in the way that 
had to be climbed over. 

On top of one was a man in uniform watching for 
some one. He saw us and waved his hands, and hustled 
down to meet us. It was Gillhooley, conductor of the 
Grand Trunk train. When he pulled out he was four- 
teen minutes behind his schedule — and his train was 
crowded, too. 

— 97 — 



This meant to us that the lecture date was filled. The 
fourteen minutes was made up. That conductor was 
human. He might have lost his job for that. Father 
always remembered him. My letters have 
proven many things to me; mainly, that 
this world has more love and kind- 
ness in it than anything else. 



-98 



To have worked is to have 
succeeded — we leave the 
results to time. Life is too 
short to gather the harvest — 
we can only sow 




The Roycro/t Shop and Boulder 



^ 



5c> 



<iA Moulder to 
Elbert Hubbard' ' $ zJftTetnory 




man in the prime of life and center- 
ing his whole activity in the build- 
i- n Z of his ideals , is not apt to give 
much thought to the monument 
which will mark his grave. If in his 
heart he knows his life is a benefi- 
cial one to humanity at large, he 
also knows that his work and memory will be his 
real monument. The mark of the last resting-place of a 
tired body is simply the last milestone in the little 
journey called life. It should not mean, "Here endeth." 
I do not know much about world-weariness, for my 
years have been few and very much filled with sweet- 
ness and joy. I do know, though, that pleasure and 
happiness are only comparative conditions and come 
incidentally . It is quite useless to make a life search for 
them. But I imagine that in the middle periods of a 
life fraught with the pains and joys of carrying bur- 
dens and responsibilities that are ceaseless, a certain 



— 101 — 



weariness comes that would make it seem easier to lay 
aside these worldly cares. 

Perhaps Elbert Hubbard was given to feel just such 
moments when the everlasting struggle appeared to tire 
him. He rarely allowed himself to be dominated by them 
longer than to cast a glance into the infinite future. In his 
Little Journey to the Home of Patrick Henry 
he wrote: "Life is a gradual death. Success is death, 
and death, if you have bargained wisely with Fate, is 
victory." To him, death held no fears . It was as natural 
as life, and "sometimes quite as desirable." 
Once as we stood at the grave of E?n erson in Sleepy 
Hollow, I remember the remark Jie made: "This big 
koujjler was put here by his friends and is a silent 
tribute to the memory of a great and splendid soul. 
It is a sacred shrine, where men and women come to 
bask in the realm of thought. These were his play- 
grounds; here he worked. When I am gone and my 
friends wish to do me honor, let them scatterjny^ashes 
on the Roycroft lawns and place there the biggest 
boulder they can find." 

To me in my youth these words sent a chill to my heart. 
The thought of it ever becoming a duty to carry out such 
a mission was so far in the future that I could not 
apprehend the full meaning of his words. Nor did 1 
realize that the simplicity of his wish meant more to 



— 102 



him than a passing thought. I know now that back of 
it was much concern; that the Roy croft Shops were the 
children of his dreams , and that to be separated from 
them even in deatJTwas not_his wish. He requested in 
his will that his body be cremated, and not buried in 
the ground. 

How strange, then, that Fate should have assisted in 
this, and while defeating in part his desire, on the 
other hand compromised by honoring the deep blue 
water of the Irish Sea as his burial-place. 
You will likely remember how, when he built the Roy- 
croft buildings, he bulled the market on boulders. He 
had a great liking for these plain, rough stones of the 
Glacial Period. 

So when it became our duty — altogether too soon — -to 
carry out his wish, my memory carried me over the 
roads we used to ride and down into the bed of the 
Cazenovia Creek at Taylorshire. 
There I knew was a big stone, for I had fished from it 
when the water was low. 

An interview with the good farmer followed. He assured 
me we might have the big boulder if we could move it, 
and that his would be the honor of furnishing a memo- 
rial for his friend and neighbor. Then he told me how 
my father had often stopped at his house to get a drink 
of water and talk horse. 

— 103 — 



He told me, too, that he remembered when this stone 
used to be at least a quarter of a mile farther up the 
creek, but that the high-water and the ice had washed it 
down stream a little each Spring. It seemed impossible 
for the boulder weighs at least seven tons. 
Moving it was a job, but with the help of old man Kulp, 
who says he can move anything God can move, we got 
it to Roy croft and out in the middle of the lawn. 
This big plain stone, uncarved and unadorned in its 
rugged simplicity, rolled and tumbled by the elements 
for ages until the rough places and sharp edges have all 
become smooth, typifies the life of the man. He, too, 
was rolled and tumbled by the great problems of life. 
His spirit was never broken, but his sympathies were 
polished until no pain, no ache, no trial, no joy known 
to the human heart was alien to him. 
The boulder is also a memorial to Alice Hubbard. Her 
desire in life was to be a help to Elbert Hubbard. In 
this she succeeded greatly. She met the problems that 
came, and when the last great day was upon her I know 
she met her fate bravely, happy in the thought that she 
had lived her own life and would cross the border hand 
in hand with him. 



104 — 



[o, as an item of record, the boulder was unveiled 
Sunday afternoon, July 2, 191 6. A gentle rain 
made it impossible to hold the simple memorial out of 
doors. In the Music-Room, Joe Mitchell Chappie held 
the assemblage breathless with his beautiful tribute. 
And Carrie Jacobs Bond sang " Just A-Wearyin 
for You" and "A Perfect Day." 
Just as she finished, and the last strain floated out 
through our hearts to the open, the sun burst out in a 
torrent of light. We marched out and across the lawns 
to the boulder, where each in their own thoughts paid 
tribute. Then Captain Jack Crawford recited his poem 
"Sunshine" — a fitting conclusion to a perfect day. 
The bronze tablet on the boulder reads: 

ERECTED JULY 1, I916 
TO THE MEMORY OF 

ELBERT AND ALICE HUBBARD 
ELBERT HUBBARD 

BORN JUNE 19, 1856 
BLOOMINGTON, ILLINOIS 

ALICE HUBBARD 

BORN JUNE 7, l86l 
WALES CENTER, NEW YORK 

BOTH WERE LOST IN THE IRISH SEA WITH 

THE LUSITANIA, MAY J, I9I5 

THEY LIVED AND DIED FEARLESSLY 

— IO5 — 



Our finest flowers are often 
weeds transplanted 



The Dump 




am finishing a job my father 
started. He started very few things 
he did not finish. When his idea 
had shaped itself into a plan his 
enthusiasm mas contagious. Those 
around him were sure to catch it. 
Sometimes his schemes were ec- 
centric^ and some of us of course had doubts as to 
their soundness. But experience had shown him to 
be right at least fifty -one per cent of the time. 
At the outskirts of the town and adjoining his farm 
was the village "dump." This was a five-acre swamp 
not good for anything — a skating-pond in Winter 
and a frog-pond in Summer. For twenty years East 
Aurora had dumped there its annual collection of tin 
cans, bottles, old iron, wire, brush, ashes, and every 
conceivable old thing. Perhaps it would have continued 
till this day. The sight of it was a terrible blotch on 
the landscape, marring an otherwise beautiful view. 
"What 'j the matter with making a park out of that ? ' 
said my Father one day. So the idea was hatched. You 



— 107 



see this stinking dump was in the hatching business 
— toads, lizards, frogs, snakes, mosquitoes, flies, 
typhoid, and all kinds of things. This day it brought 
forth a new product — an idea, new and clean. 
Make a park of the dump! Bury the debris of twenty 
years' accumulation! Put out of sight the waste of 
a thousand homes, with all its traditions, its memories, 
its associations, its lure to the small boy and the junk- 
picker. Force the Weary Willies of the road to seek 
other markets for the exchange of worn-out tomato- 
cans for new! Drain off the stagnant water, and bury 
its reptile society, with the cast-off conclusions of a 
wasteful people! Clear out the underbrush and poison- 
ivy and black alder! Give the new growth of young 
elm, ash, hickory, ironwood and wild cherry a chance! 
Make of this long-time eyesore a playground! Put up 
swings for the kiddies, and build a little shack in 
the rear — another Little Journey camp. Yes, those were 
his thoughts and intentions. So it was that some years 
ago he bought this five acres of dump for fifty dollars 
and started to carry out the plan. It needn't be done 
all at once, but let the boys work at it between times. 
When the farmhands had a little time to spare they 
could haul gravel from the pit on the farm. 
Nearly every day for about a year Elbert Hubbard, 
with a gang of printers and guests of the Roy croft Inn 

— 108 — 



{you see the enthusiasm was great), might be found 
at the dump y spreading rubbish into the low places 
and discussing the ethics of business in the rest 
moments. 

A thousand loads or more of gravel were hauled into 
the dump and carefully spread, the brush was burned 
and the water drained off. There was little to be done 
to complete the work. But for some reason the good 
intentions to finish the job lagged. For two or three 
years nothing more was done except to erect a sign: 
"Say, you dumper, this is no dump — pass on!" 
It was surprising how quickly a deserted and for- 
gotten swamp will grow up to thick brush and bram- 
bles. In the two years of neglect the old dump had 
raised a brand-new crop. Also, certain good folks had, 
perhaps through force of habit, continued to use the 
place for a convenient spot to dispose of their discard. 
Nobody was ever seen doing it. Dark nights were 
used for this purpose. And the dumper could go away 
with a clear conscience, too, for all signs are nil when 
obscured by the friendly darkness. No one can be 
accused of misdemeanor when not caught. 

few weeks ago, when searching for a place to 
build a retreat, the old dump suddenly occurred 
to me as the place. Here, too, was a chance to finish the job 

— 109 — 



my Father had started. The sentiment was strong. 
So I gathered a jew axes and a scythe, and with Al 
Mehan, who was visiting at the Inn, Sandy, and a 
couple of roustabouts, started in to reclaim this piece 
of waste property . Al, who sells lumber for a business, 
helped me drive a well. We got water at ten feet, and 
blisters in an hour. We cut brush and we shoveled 
dirt over the tin cans. Then we built a roadway to the 
back of the lot, winding in and out among the trees 
so as to obscure it from the passers-by. 
Asbestos, that colt Felix could nt ride, was hitched 
to a dirt-wagon with Mike, an old horse who had more 
than horse-sense. Mike taught Asbestos that the way of 
the world is hard, and the lash of a whip to be re- 
spected when wielded by Ali Bab a, Jr. Now, Asbestos 
is a full-fledged work-horse and will pull his side of 
a load of gravel as well as any horse. The old "dump" 
is now a thing of history. Centuries hence, when 
explorers dig beneath the surface here, they will find 
relics of an age of curious peoples. 
At the back of the little park Sandy and I built a 
house, twelve by twenty, only one room. There are 
double bunks in the corner and an old-fashioned 
woodstove. We did nt swipe the lumber this time. 
They have a night-watchman at the lumber-yard. 
Daddy Flickinger, of Erie, Pa., who came to East 



— no 



Aurora to rusticate ', helped us with much good advice 
and a spare hammer {the kind you drive nails with, 
I mean). He also gave us a name for the place. It is 
" Brushken." I believe he was thinking of the piles 
of brush and the buried tin cans. I like the name, though, 
and it sticks. 

The little park is n't done yet. The finishing touches 
will be added from time to time in play-spells. But all 
in all, I J m sure we are arriving at the sort of conclu- 
sion Elbert Hubbard had in mind. The " dump " is 
gone. In its place there is a beautiful little grove 
of hardwoods and a restful quiet shack, 
where Little Journeys could be written 
if there were any one to write them. 



— hi — 



Reflections 

{With apologies to W. M. R.) 




used to live in a little log house, set 
in the middle of a two-acre lot. 
When I bought the land {with 
money I borrowed), there was not 
a tree or a shrub on it. Evenings, 
after work, I planted some trees, 
berry-bushes, roses and vines. 
After the lot was finally paid for, I borrowed some more 
money to build the house. My father did not give me 
any money — I gave him my note and paid him interest. 
That was kind of him, and he knew it better than I — at 
that time. 

He did give me permission to cut the logs from his 
woods, ten miles out of town. There was no charge for 
them, but the cost of bringing them in was a big item. 
The house finally grew into a home. I had a garden in 
which I raised all the things we could eat, and more 
than that. I raised strawberries in quantities. My 
berries were better than the markets offered. I made a 



— 113 — 



reputation with them. This reputation was only three 
blocks long in each direction. But it might have grown 
to endless distances. 

Also, I raised finer asparagus, raspberries and cur- 
rants than common. There were fewer weeds in my 
garden than in any other in the neighborhood. The rows 
of vegetables were straighter and longer. My chickens 
laid more eggs than others. My six hives of Maeter- 
linck bees seemed to prosper, too. They gathered honey 
enough to supply all my friends. 
Sunday mornings I always sifted ashes. I had a wood 
pile and kept two months' supply ahead. There was a 
young orchard which grew in five years to bearing 
fruit. The house was surrounded by a lawn which 
I kept closely cut. And, too, there were flowers — 
roses especially. 

Inside the house was a real home, and presently, as 
the years went by, there came three little girls. Each 
was to be a boy {till she came), so that I could have help 
in the garden. But girls can do anything boys can do — 
if they start right. The oldest one learned to plant seeds 
and finally had her own little plot. 
She was especially fond of onions, and when only big 
enough to creep followed the row of sets I was planting 
and dug them out. When I turned to look she was eat- 
ing them with immense glee. 

— 114 — 



©he log-house life was a success. My partner was 
a hustler, thrifty and ambitious, perhaps more 
so than I. She had foresight, was a great economist, 
and a remarkable home-maker. She and the kids 
picked strawberries and sold them around the neighbor- 
hood while I was at work at the Shops. That 's how I 
got my reputation. We had no hired girl for several 
years. 

I spent my evenings at home, working outdoors till 
dark, and often long after. I belonged to no lodge, no 
clubs, and did not care for cards or "society." My 
only "evenings out" were spent at the Village office, 
once every two weeks. I was considered a good citizen 
by the community and honored with a place on the 
Village Board for nine years. 

We had no calling-list and no Thursdays. My wife did 
not belong to the Woman s Club. Our home was our 
paradise, and it took all our spare time to keep it in 
shape. We were often complimented on its beauty and 
thrifty appearance. Some of my neighbors, whose 
gardens were only weeds, said: "I dont see how you 
do it. I cant." But I knew. 

And all this time, way off in the dim future, we were 
planning on a bigger place, a farm out in the country, 
where we would have room for some cows and 
pigs and enough land to necessitate a team. When the 

— 115 — 



time would come I could quit my job at the Shops. But 
the job at the Shop kept getting bigger and I was taking 
on more responsible work. The farm seemed further off 
— but it must come some time. Others could do the 
shopwork when everything got to running better. 
Somehow, though, after the kiddies were tucked in bed, 
and Wife and I were resting on the porch in the cool 
starlight, after a hot day, one of us was apt to remark, 
"These are the happiest days of our lives; the future 
cant always be like this. Here we have our own little 
world and our troubles are nil. The babies, the garden, 
the chickens, the bees; plenty of everything and no 
insurmountable tasks. Let 's enjoy it while it lasts.' 1 

J^e^hat 's all there was to it for eleven years. A small 
V_v existence, you say! I admit it, but perhaps I had 
other ambitions, dormant, and less in the foreground. 
Don't put me down as a soft-shell seeker of ease. Con- 
tentment and happiness are always to be cherished. 
It is either a relentless undercurrent of energy or fate 
that makes a man seek responsibilities that are the 
price of freedom. 

Now? Gracious, how time has whirled! Well, it was nt 
the surplus of energy that gave me my boost. I y m get- 
ting under the load and my shoulders can carry it. 
I don't live in the log house now, and I dont tend the 

— 116 — 



garden. The chickens have long since been plucked. 
The bees have flown. The rosebushes need pruning, 
and the orchard is growing too many suckers. I fear me 
the woodpile is gone. The weeds will outgrow the cab- 
bages and celery. The lawn will not be so close-cropped. 
For a city friend has rented the home. 
We carried the sentiment with us, though. It brings a 
heart-pang to hear the little girls ask: "Daddy ', when 
are we going back? You promised to, you know? " 

y^^HE job that was flopped on to me is a real one. 
L J / did nt ask for it, but I had to take it. An oppor- 
tunity, the biggest any youngster ever had. My princi- 
pal responsibilities are now keeping peace between 
the departments, killing gossip, and signing payroll- 
checks; incidentally writing sharp collection-letters 
for slow Fra renewals, to help supply the necessary 
funds to keep those checks from protest; figuring how to 
keep pace with the ever-increasing cost of paper, copper, 
leather and wages, not to mention coal; worrying about 
the consequences of a war {the income-tax does nt bother 
a bit); using the blue-pencil and my small-town atti- 
tude on the ambitious writings of a courageous editor; 
and all the time plugging rat-holes and leaks that only 
the man who pays the bills can see. 
What about the "Missus' 1 ? She has my sympathies. 

— 117 — 



Running a sixty-room Inn is n't like a six-room 
bungalow. But if I were to tell you the ?iet saving in 
her department last year over the year before, you would 
accuse me of undue pride in my relatives. Not only did 
she save, but she improved the service. I never ran a 
hotel, and I don't now. She does. I'm content to stay 
on my own side of the street. 

But some day {please don't smile!), I shall pack up 

our duds, and Wife, the three kiddies, the cat and I 

will go back to the log house at the side of the road, with 

all its sentiment and memories. And we '11 grow 

roses, and strawberries and asparagus. Now, 

would n't that be beautiful! IV ill we do 

it? We will not! Life does n't circle. 

The course is an inverted spiral. 



— 118 — 



^) 



Responsibility and Freedom 




ere you to ask me for a definition of 
contentment I would venture this: 
Contentment is a process of adjust- 
ing one's thoughts to conditions as 
they are — holding that in the main 
there is a firm basis of right. 
Every one seeks contentment. But 
fortunately for the evolution of the universe we never do 
find it — except for a day or so at a time. 
The everlasting discontent of man makes him hustle, 
fust over yonder the opportunity seems a little better ■, 
the job a little easier ; a little more peace and rest. But 
when we get there we find conditions about the same as 
here under our feet. You know how you hunt for a 
place to eat your lunch when out on a picnic in the 
woods? And how that nice smooth spot over on the 
other side of the ravine is nt so smooth as it looked? 
When I was a youngster and was forbidden to do certain 
things or to go to certain places , I had the same thoughts 
every boy under restraint has: " Just wait till I am 
twenty-one: I y ll do as I please then." 

— 119 — 



But when I became twenty-one, the long-wished-for 
time when I thought I could shape my own actions, 
somehow I did nt do as I pleased. There were new 
factors in my existence, some new interests and re- 
straints. 

Che other day I was talking with a young lady of 
this childish desire for freedom. She told me 
that, when she was a little girl, her father tried an 
experiment with herself and her sister. They had both 
complained of the restraint he put on them and re- 
minded him they had a right to do as they pleased. 
"All right," said he, "I want you to be happy and to 
have all the freedom you can use. You should know 
whether you need my help or not. So I suggest a little 
stunt. For the next week you are free to do and go just 
as you please. Only one condition do I make: you are 
not to ask my advice, or opinio?!, or counsel on any- 
thing. You are to be your own dictators, choose your 
own pleasures." 

"For a whole week! Think of it! And nobody to tell 
us when to get up or when to go to bed, or what we shall 
eat! Oh my, and we can go anywhere we want! Gee, 
what fun!" 

For a week their father made no comment on their 
behavior, no expression of criticism or appreciation. 

— 1 20 — 



The first day or two was just fun. Then there came an 
uncertainty in their minds about the plans for a 
certain little theater party. But father would nt help 
them decide. When they overslept and were late for 
breakfast next mornings their father had left for the 
office •, without any complaint of their tardiness. If only 
he had called them and remonstrated a little^ it would 
have been a relief. In the evening his attitude was 
kindly and cheerful^ but indifferent. They worked at 
their lessons in solitude ', for he was busy reading. 
And so the week dragged out without father offering 
any suggestion as to their behavior. An occasional 
appeal for some advice was met with a smile and 
gentle reminder^ "Suit yourselves." When Saturday 
night came the young ladies had learned their lesson 
and were eager to call it quits. Their week of freedom 
had been a trial. The responsibility of deciding for 
themselves and the consciousness of their own actions 
had weighed on them. To be free from restraint also 
brought a burden of decision. Father s counsel and 
advice had a different value after that. 

I was always a great deal of an Indiayi. I once had 
an idea that to be able to hunt and fish and tramp 
the woods would be an ideal life. And so it might! As 
yet I have nt exactly outgrown this joy of freedom to 

— 121 — 



be gotten from the silence of the big woods, and seek 
it whenever I can. However, I have learned the truth 
that joy and happiness are at the last but comparative 
conditions! To be alone in the forest, with only the 
trees and the sounds of Nature, simply exemplifies the 
great blessing of being with people — especially with 
those few who understand or love you, or are tolerant 
and considerate. At one short period of my young man- 
hood I used to think that married life in a little log 
bungalow with just Wife and I, and no children, 
would bring contentment everlasting. How little I 
knew about it! The three little girls in my household 
today are as much a part of my life as the sunshine 
and fresh air. No possible thing or condition could 
fill the void should they be taken away. 
A wise man has said, "We grow strong through bear- 
ing burdens." Yet I suppose some burdens may be too 
big to allow for the necessary growth to bear them. 
We can only appreciate and comprehend just in pro- 
portion as we know. We do not know true values unless 
we have the comparative. You would be free from hate? 
Then learn to love. Would break away from unjust 
laws? Develop power to make just ones. Superstition 
and fear grip you? Surely then you must grow in 
mentality and study the laws of Nature. 
I am not exactly a believer in predestination, but I do 



122 



know that we are in degree responsible for our own 
destinies. It is most natural for us all to say what we 
would do if we were in the other fellow's place. But 
being put in his place and having his responsibilities, 
likely enough we would do just as he does. It all depends 
on the outlook, the point of view. To make the decision 
and bear the effect of the results, good or bad, is differ- 
ent from suggesting to the other fellow that he do this 
or that. 

So, after all, the measure of contentment or happiness 
is only relative, just as everything else is. And I am 
sure if you weigh in the scale all that matters, the 
balance will be perfect. 

11 God 's in his Heaven — 

All 's right with the world! " 



123 — 






Men congratulate themselves on 
their position, no matter what it 
is; the world is wrong, not they 



65 



^^ 



Preferred Justice 




clipping from //fo £«« D/Vg-o (C*/- 
ifornia) Union &?.$■ Mfj heading: 
" Judge Sentences Shirking Sailor 
\to Read Poem." The poem referred 
to is A Message to Garcia. Just 
why the reporter who wrote the 
editorial should call it a Poem, I 
don't know, unless perhaps he never read the 
Message. 

The sentence imposed was really a very unusual pro- 
cedure oj the Court. Justice Keating, presiding, whose 
business it is to hand out justice to the unfaithful who 
are unfortunate — or I believe I should say fortunate — 
enough to be brought before him, showed his great 
insight into the weakness and needs of men. 
The young man receiving the sentence was a member of 
the naval militia and was charged with failure to 
attend drills and militia parades — not a very serious 
crime. In pronouncing sentence on this man Judge 
Keating said: "This Court sentences you to pay a 
fine of $25.00, but suspends sentence pending your 

— 125 — 




good behavior. You are also ordered to procure and 
read a little story called A Message to Garcia." 

'lthough not positive as to anything else the 
Judge said at the time, I am reasonably certain 
he added this : " That essay contains a moral lesson you 
need. Ten days in jail would not do for you what the 
Message will.You are a man who ought to know how to 
keep out of court, and the reason you don't is because you 
have wasted your time and energy at the wrong things. I 
like your looks and I want to help you. The kind of per- 
suasion you need is a little more ?noral and less forcible. 
You are not bad, but you are careless of your own 
responsibilities. If you would realize your own impor- 
tance in the community and your duties as a militia- 
man, you would not be here. Now read A Message to 
Garcia and get its lesson. Come to my office after 
four o'clock next Tuesday and tell me what you think 
of it. But remember this, the Court can enforce payment 
of the fine at any timeyoufailto be a friend to yourself "." 

^Jhe next time I go to San Diego I am going to call 
^^/ on Judge Keating myself {unaccompanied by a 
bluecoat and after four o'clock), and I am going to con- 
gratulate him on his great wisdom and the genuine 
hospitality of his court. 

— 126 — 



In stamping the approval of a court of justice on the 
Message, he paid its author a very high compliment 
indeed. I believe that is the first time this little literary 
lesson has been used in quite that way. 
However ■, its fame has in the past few days been demon- 
strated to me by two other incidents almost as pro- 
nounced: 

An agent of the British War Department wrote me for 
permission to have A Message to Garcia reprinted in 
London to send over to the boys in the trenches. Why 
certainly I consented! The other case is in the form of 
an order from the Government of the Philippine 
Islands for a large quantity of the booklets for distribu- 
tion among its employees. 

J^^here is one thing about the Message that makes 
^^ me feel as if perhaps it would not have been writ- 
ten had it not been for me: McKinley and Teddy and 
Dewey carried on the war and whipped Spain. Rowan 
carried the message to Garcia in Cuba. All that is 
history and undisputed. 

Garcia did nt know how important the event was, nor 
that his name was soon to be immortalized. 
But do you know that it was I who furnished the real 
close-up inspiration for A Message to Garcia, as 
written by Elbert Hubbard? 

— 127 — 



Out of the kindness of his big heart my Father has told 
how he came to write this epoch-making essay , in these 
few words:''' The immediate suggestion came from a 
little argument over the teacups, when my boy Bert 
suggested that Rowan was the real hero of the Cuban 
War. Rowan had gone alone and done the thing — 
carried the message to Garcia. It came to me like a flash ! 
Yes, the boy is right: the hero is the man who does his 
work — who carries the message to Garcia." 
Now was nt that a nice compliment and just like him! 
I was sixteen years old at the time and from the records 
I perceive that I was all boy. What I did nt know 
about all kinds of deviltry could be put in your eye. 
What I did nt know about responsibility, and the im- 
portance of holding down a job, would fill a tall copy 
of the Essay on Silence. 

/ think I will have to tell you just how I furnished the 
inspiration for the " Garcia." It is as clear in my 
memory as on that great day. I surely deserved all I 
got. But the worst of it all was everybody around there 
knew just who that special "Message " was for. First 
I was humiliated; but when George H. Daniels of the 
New York Central Railroad ordered a million copies 
of A Message to Garcia, I got chesty. If anybody 
mentioned my late act of "imprudence " / came right 
back with — "Well, you think you are so smart, let 's 

— 128 — 



see you inspire another world-be aterl" It is nt every 
day a boy can be of such service to humanity. 
Nobody ever did anything alone , nor enjoyed a good 
time by himself ', nor hugged a sorrow to his own breast. 
There is always some one else, somewhere. Truth is 
only half-true. A lie is the only thing that needs no 
-partner. Service is often given in obscure ways. Some- 
times it is nt appreciated. We need each other, no 
matter what happens. What 'j that ? — What did I do 
to call forth the greatest business essay ever written? 
Oh yes, I was going to tell you. But, never 
mind now! Other boys have done worse 
— but perhaps Elbert Hubbard 
wasn't interested in them. 



129 — 



6Z 



So here endeth 

IMPRESSIONS 

being short sketches and intimacies 

concerning Elbert Hubbard, 

The Roy croft & things Roycroftie, 

together with some autobiography 

written by Elbert Hubbard II, 

gathered together by Frederic 

Bann, and made into this, his 

first book, by Axel Edward 

Sahlin, typographical expert, 

Charles J. Rosen, super-printer, 

& Charles Youngers, bibli- 

opegist extra-ordinary, and 

loyal Roy crofters all 



3k77-5 



